Mirrors
by Mizu Iruka
Summary: Unseen 'verse. Be careful what you wish for. Tag to What Is and What Never Should Be.


**Mirrors**

_Part of a 'verse where Sam was blinded at age 13. (AU begins with the fic What Remains Unseen). Tag to What is and What Never Should Be_

* * *

"Dean?"

Dean slowly opened his eyes, sorting through his distorted memories and coming up mostly confused. "Sam?"

"Hey man. Open your eyes for me, okay?"

Dean blinked. "Huh?"

"And he speaks. No concussion, thank goodness." Dean was hoisted to his feet and he blinked again. What kind of dream was this?

"C'mon, Dean. You're not gonna let a wimpy poltergeist take you out, are you?" Sam taunted.

Dean stared at him. "Sam, your eyes."

"What about them?"

"You can see."

Sam looked worried, but didn't crowd close like Dean would've thought he would. "How hard did you hit your head? How many fingers am I holding up?"

Dean swallowed. "Sam, what about the djinn?"

"Djinn?" Sam smirked. "Now you're just yanking my chain. We took care of that weeks ago. Now hang on, I've gotta get the last bag and finish the banishment spell." He darted off, leaving Dean staring in his wake. Because Sam had eyes. Bright, hazel ones that had assessed him with all the normalcy of a person with eyesight. Sam had said the djinn hunt had been weeks ago. Did that mean Dean had just been whammied with a memory loss spell? Had Sam regained his eyesight during that time?

"Whew, done. Seriously man, you aren't looking so good. Let's get out of here."

Dazedly, Dean let Sam help him up, only to be surprised once more as Sam moved away from him. When Dean was hurt, Sam always hovered and stayed annoyingly—comfortingly—close.

"Sam, you gotta fill in some holes for me," Dean said awkwardly. "Maybe that knock on the head took away some memories or something, but I'm drawing blanks, here."

Sam nodded. "Kay, sounds good. Can we do it while driving though? Gotta get to the next sighting of the demon."

Dean stopped. "The _demon_ demon?" he checked.

Sam turned pained eyes on him. "Yeah, Dean. Wow, you are out of it, aren't you? I'll drive."

Dean passed over the keys, mechanically getting into the passenger's seat and switching on some music. Thankfully that was the same. Sam handled the Impala with ease, only one hand on the wheel.

"Sam, uh, what happened with the djinn hunt?" Dean asked weakly.

"You played the hero again, ran in there, got yourself charmed into a dream world, and I found you. You still haven't told me what you saw in there." Sam turned accusatory eyes on Dean, who flinched, suddenly glad that normally Sam didn't look like that.

"I, uh . . . we're searching for the demon," he finally said aloud. "Why?"

Sam looked at him incredulously. "Mom? Jess? My visions? Any of this ringing a bell?"

Startled by his bitter tone, Dean lapsed into silence. When Jessica had died, Sam had come along with Dean, saying that he wanted to find Dad and figure out what was going on. But that had been it. Dean had always figured Sam had really come with him because he had nothing left, and was clinging to the one thing he knew. Even after the confrontation and Dad's death, they had never decided to go after the demon. Some things were better left alone, in both of their opinions. There was no need to repeat Dad's suicide mission.

But for some reason, they were searching for the demon now.

"Is it revenge?" he blurted out.

"Yes," Sam said bluntly.

"And, uh, your eyes. Nothing ever . . ."

"Dude, what's your obsession with my eyes?" Sam angled an amused glance at Dean. "Honestly, most of the time you're complaining about me using them to convince people I'm innocent."

"Right." Dean scrubbed his face. "I think I've fallen into a really weird dream."

"Christo."

Dean shot his head up. "What?"

Sam shrugged. "I was just checking. You're acting weird."

"I'm acting weird," Dean scoffed. "Everything else is weird."

"Sure, man." Sam tapped his fingers against the wheel and then glanced at the tape player in annoyance. "Any chance we could turn that off for a while? I am driving. Driver picks the music, right?"

Dean blinked. They had never made a rule like that. "But you love Metallica."

Sam snorted. "Uh huh. In your dreams."

Silently, Dean switched off the music, getting a surprised 'thanks' from Sam.

Something was very, very wrong, and Dean was betting it had to do with the djinn.

* * *

"Alright, that's it." Sam fumbled for the car door, swinging his feet out and pulling out his cane. "I have given you fifteen minutes, Dean. You better not be in trouble."

The abandoned place was silent as he entered, which meant either A: Dean was knocked out or worse, or B: he was tracking down the djinn. Both cases meant Sam had to be as quiet as possible.

"Dean?" he finally hissed. There was no response.

Sam's ears picked up the sound of a soft shifting to his left. Without Dean's response, he figured that meant the djinn was on the prowl.

Sometimes, being blind was an advantage. Sam felt the djinn's attack in the rush of air before he heard it, and swung his knife dipped in lamb's blood.

He only nicked it though, and the last thing he felt was a weird pressure on the side of his head.

Sam opened his eyes. The ceiling was white.

"Dean?" he tried.

The shifting next to him had Sam scrambling away, only to realize he was on a bed. And the curvy figure next to him was definitely not Dean.

"Sam?"

Sam gaped. He would know that voice anywhere, even if he didn't quite know her face, aside from painful memories of the vision of her death. "Jess?"

"You okay, sweetie?"

Sam swallowed. "Yeah. Go back to sleep." He forced himself to breathe deeply. The last thing he remembered was the djinn. This had to be a side-effect of that. Djinns were traditionally wish-fulfillers, after all. And Sam had his eyesight back. Funny, that wouldn't've been his first thought, as far as wishes went. Dean being happy, would've. Though Dean would be happy if he had his eyesight.

"Jess," he hissed. She turned to face him, eyes blinking with sleep.

"Sam, what's wrong?"

"I, um, have you talked with Dean?"

"We'll see them all tomorrow, Sam. We're going to tell them, right?"

"Tell them what?"

Jess raised up onto her elbow. "About the engagement. Right?" Her voice had a hint of warning in it.

"Oh, of course," Sam hurried to say, even as his mind blanked. Engaged to marry Jessica. Whoa.

Sam scooted out of bed, murmuring "can't sleep" as Jess protested sleepily. It wasn't hard to find his cell phone and call Dean's number.

"Sam?" Dean's voice was full of sleep. "What do you want?"

"Dean, what's going on? Is this the djinn? I thought it got you, man, and then I think I stabbed it, but then I woke up and Jess's here."

"Dude. Are you drunk? You?"

"What? No," Sam returned indignantly. "I'm talking about the djinn."

"Gin is a type of drink, Sammy. You shouldn't be so nervous about Dad's birthday. That is, if you're going to show."

Sam's throat closed up, and Dean signed off with an annoyed "goodnight." Dad was alive. Dean seemed happy. Sam could see. This might be fake, but Sam wasn't sure he wanted it to be.

* * *

"That all you got?" Sam smirked.

Dean huffed out a reluctant groan. "Uncle."

Sam got off of him and grinned. "Dude, you taught me that hold. Can't believe you fell for that."

Dean didn't bother mentioning that he hadn't expected Sam to know it. He had tried to teach Sam, but it turned out that it was nearly impossible to pull it off without being able to see the other person's movements.

"You been working out?" he asked instead. "Didn't think you were that strong."

"What's the matter, too good for you?" Sam preened.

"Shut up," Dean laughed. He considered it, as Sam turned away. It wasn't that Sam was skinny or soft, but being blind meant certain forms of PT were out of the question, such as running and intense sparring. Sam was fit, but had never been buff. This version of Sam who could see was all lean and hard muscle.

"Feel like watching a movie?"

Sam shrugged. "Sure. Let me just check up on the weather reports."

Dean's smile slipped a little. "Do you have to?"

Sam scowled at him. "I know you want to just let it go, but I want to find the demon, Dean. You can go along with me, or I'll do it myself."

Dean gaped at the black and white terms and quickly backtracked. "I just wanted to relax for one night," he tried to excuse himself.

"Alright." Sam peeled off his sweaty t-shirt and headed for the shower. Slightly shaken, Dean began flipping through channels in search of a good movie.

"You better not have used up all the hot water," he threatened when Sam came out. Sam smiled broadly, eyes flashing in amusement. Dean felt himself automatically smile in amazement and gratitude and ducked into the bathroom to hide it. Sam could _see_.

He emerged from the shower to find Sam predictably hunched over his laptop.

"C'mon, bitch, movie time."

Sam sighed and sat down on the bed. Dean flopped next to him and got a startled glance.

"What?"

"Um, what are you doing?"

"Watching a movie," Dean said slowly. "Why?"

"Personal space, much? You do have your own bed, y'know."

Dean felt himself flush. "Oh. Sorry, wasn't thinking." Normally he and Sam always—well, for lack of a better term—snuggled during movies. Not that they ever called it that, but still.

"Huh, normally on weeknights they don't play decent movies," Sam said, drawing Dean's attention back to the screen.

"Uh huh," Dean grinned. "Gotta love_ The Mummy_. So, we've got Evie, who's got the whole library girl image going on at first, I know you'd go for her, and she's, obviously, in the library. You remember this part, right?"

"Dean? Are you okay?"

Dean blinked and turned his attention to Sam. "Huh?"

"Normally you never say a word during movies. Where'd this sudden loquaciousness come from?"

"Oh, pulling out the college words," Dean automatically snarked. His brain was frozen, though. He had forgotten Sam could see. Describing movies was like second nature, now. Dean found himself suddenly enjoying the movie less, as he stared at the screen.

"Dean, where are you?"

"What?" he looked up.

"I didn't say anything," Sam said.

Dean could've sworn he heard something. Strange.

* * *

"The lawyer graces us with his presence." Sam was taken aback at the slight maliciousness behind the words, and smiled at his father uncertainly.

"Hey, Dad."

"Wow, you must be in a good mood. What happened to your habit of calling me John?" his Dad asked.

Sam fumbled for words, but Jess stepped in, smiling widely at his father. "Happy Birthday, Mr. Winchester."

His Dad melted slightly. "Thank you, Jessica. And you know it's John."

"Of course." She tossed a wink at Sam behind his Dad's back as they turned to go into the house.

"Sam. You actually showed."

Sam automatically relaxed as he heard Dean's voice. "Dean, hey." He grinned and approached Dean, taking in the lack of scar tissue that he knew marred Dean's face normally.

"What, not too good for your older brother, now?"

Sam flinched away from the slight anger. "What do you mean?"

"Ah, so we're pretending the last conversation never happened, not including the drunk dial from last night?"

"I don't remember," Sam tried.

"Uh huh. Look, just keep your distance, okay?" Dean pinned Sam with a glare, an expression Sam suddenly was glad he didn't have to see.

"Sure," Sam backed off.

"Dean, honey, did you forget the drinks?"

Dean's face split into a warm smile. "Course I didn't, who do you think you're dating?"

Sam 'huh'd briefly. The girl's face looked familiar, somehow. Kind of like one of the witches from the time Sam was bewitched and got his sight back for a few days. She headed indoors, and Sam shook his head.

"Dean, do you have your hunting stuff?" he tried.

In return, he got a bewildered look. "Sam, are you doing okay? I mean, school getting to be too much? Are you on drugs?"

"Dude!" Sam folded his arms across his chest. "It was just a question, alright?"

He glanced at the Impala, and then headed for the trunk.

"That's my car, man, you mess with her, you . . ."

Nothing. Nothing in the trunk at all, aside from the spare tire. Sam glanced up in a mixture of amusement and shock. "Dean. You're a civvie?"

"A what?"

"A civilian."

"You know I never wanted to go into the Marines, despite what Dad wanted."

"Right." Sam laughed. "Marines."

"Seriously. You've never been like this, Sam. What's the deal?"

Sam rubbed his forehead wearily. "I have no idea. Whatever it is, it's not good."

Dean thawed a little. "Look, let's head inside, alright? Please keep the fighting with Dad to a minimum."

Sam could remember Dean asking that in the past, but it never seemed quite so relevant as it did now, with John seeming to hate him. "Sure thing."

Dean entered the house first, and Sam turned to face the ordinary suburban sprawl. "Dean," he whispered. "Where are you?"

* * *

It turned out that Sam was obsessed with revenge. He had gone to Stanford, not talked to Dean that whole time, and had left Dean more than once since then.

But he was good. He could see, and hunt, and was as capable as Dean always imagined. Sam was independent.

And it made Dean miserable.

Dean knew what that made him. It made him a pathetic, needy excuse for a brother who was awful and the worse kind of person for Sammy. He should be proud, happy, even that Sam was so strong by himself. But every time Sam dodged an embrace or ignored him, it felt like a slap in the face.

So what if he was a codependent idiot. Dean had had enough. He knew where he needed to be, and it wasn't here.

"I'm gonna go hit the bar," he made up.

Unlike his Sam, who, though he might have whined about it, would've automatically come along, the Sam on the bed waved him off and continued to peruse his book.

"Bye, Sammy," Dean murmured, and shut the door.

Dean didn't want to be overdramatic about it, but, well, the way he figured, waking up from a djinn dream wasn't going to be something as simple as pinching himself. Everything else had felt real. This would have to be real as well.

"Here goes nothing," he muttered as he raised the knife.

"Dean, don't!"

Dean blinked at the glare of Sam's flashlight.

"Sam? How'd you . . ."

"Dean, please. I know things haven't been that great, but this isn't the answer, man. Don't leave me here, alone, to deal with this. We're doing this together, remember? Saving people, hunting things?"

Sam's words pulled at Dean, enough that he lowered his knife. "Sam, it's not that," he fumbled. "This isn't my world. You're not . . . Sam."

Sam's eyes looked impossibly pained. "Yeah, I am. What is it that's not me? I'm here, all of me."

Under his breath, Dean whispered, "that's the problem."

Despite the fact that Sam didn't have bat hearing, he seemed to pick up the words just fine. "That's it. I'm not blind, so that means something is wrong?"

Dean blinked. "How did you . . ." Of course. The djinn knew everything.

"Not too hard to figure out, the way you kept mentioning my eyes," Sam growled, sounding so _Sam_ that it sent a jolt of doubt through Dean. "Are you so desperate for my attention that you have to do this? I'm listening, Dean. I'm right here. I know it doesn't seem like it, not like if I were blind or something, but I need you. Please."

Out of the corner of his eye, another version, a gaunt, exhausted, scared Sam flickered.

"Don't leave me," the seeing Sam pleaded.

Dean had never been able to deny Sam. But this time, he had no choice.

An apology was on his lips as the knife hit.

* * *

Sam was good at puzzles. It was part of what made him tick, what made him sometimes helpful with the hunts.

This puzzle was child's play. Sam couldn't exactly remember what went down, but he remembered his research on the djinn, the few accounts from other hunters who had survivors of djinn attacks telling them 'they had been happy' and 'why did you make me leave.'

It was pretty obvious that the idea of wish fulfillment was true.

But Sam figured it out. The likelihood that djinns could go back and change history was zero to none. Disruptions in the time continuum, of fate . . . whatever. It would take an enormous power, and djinns would not be hiding out in warehouses with that kind of influence.

Sam had the hypothesis that it was all in his head; the ability to see (everything he saw was reminiscent of childhood memories and glimpses from various supernatural means he had gotten along the years), a lack of hunting (the normal life that he'd always imagined, both for himself and Dean. Sort of), no demon, just their mother dying in childbirth (because obviously, Sam had never seen her aside from grainy photographs, thus making it impossible to create a mother in this wish world).

Oh, and a split between Sam and his family, all Sam's fault.

After all, wouldn't a wish fulfillment in his head would spew all of Sam's self-hatred back at himself?

"We're done here, Sam." Dean's cold voice brought him back to the present—or not present?

"I'm sorry, Dean," he apologized. "I'm sorry things aren't better between us. That somehow I've managed to screw up everything by acting arrogant and . . . But I'll make it right. You'll see. Jerk."

Sam wasn't surprised when Dean didn't respond with the customary response, even if it did hurt some, still. Dean was a little thrown, judging by his slightly befuddled look. Sam took his time memorizing Dean's face, while he still had time. Even though this was technically all pulled from his faulty memories and imagination.

"Tell Jess I said goodbye," he said quickly. "Take care of yourself, Dean."

Sam ran. It was a sweet, physical task that Sam could only vaguely remember. Treadmills weren't the same.

The bridge was there. Sam had the theory that either falling, or at worse case, his own death, should wake him up. Cut the ropes tying him to the wish world.

"Sammy!"

It was the first time in his dream that Dean had called him that.

"Let's talk about this, Sam. You can't do this."

Sam hummed agreeably, staring down into the abyss. He had always had an obsession with heights, the thrill. Never told Dean, because he knew it would freak him out, but standing, falling, not knowing when he was going to hit the ground . . . whenever he really died, he would like it to be that way.

"Sammy, don't do this." His dad's voice joined the mix, and Sam closed his eyes, listening to the gruff tones and letting them sear into his memory.

Jess's voice joined the mix as well. Sam ignored the words, listened to the tones. Like music.

He let himself think of his Dean, and jumped.

* * *

Dean stirred, struggling to simply open his eyes. When he finally did, he realized that he was hanging by his wrists. And . . .

Sam. Dean tried to call out but only managed to cough.

Sam was moving as well, Dean noticed with relief. "Sam," he croaked.

His little brother twitched and his head rolled towards Dean's voice. "Dean?"

"Hey man. Looks like I screwed this hunt up," Dean said. He began working his wrists, relieved to find the ropes somewhat easy to slip from. He nearly collapsed as his legs took all of his weight, though.

"Dean, are you okay?" Sam was pulling at his ropes. Dean winced as Sam pulled free and landed in a heap on the floor. "Ow."

"Yeah, genius, careful there." Dean yanked several needles from under his skin and made his way to Sam, easing his brother up into a sitting position.

"Dude, the djinn's still alive. Check around for the knife," Sam insisted, weakly shoving Dean's hands away.

Regretfully, Dean left Sam and began a frantic search for the knife dipped in lamb's blood.

He should have guessed what would happened next; the second Dean got his hands on the knife, Sam made a choked noise, and Dean whirled to find the djinn struggling to touch Sam's face with a glowing blue hand.

"Not this time," Dean snarled, leaping forward. The knife hit home, leaving the brothers gasping but alive in the wake of it.

"Dean?" Sam wavered.

"Let's get out of here, huh?" Dean suggested shakily.

Sam nodded firmly and stood up, wobbling slightly.

Dean kind of hated himself for the feeling he got when Sam immediately leaned into his touch with a sigh. Dean was the worst brother on the face of the planet.

"We weren't even really brothers, in my wish world, because I thought it would make you happy. And I couldn't stay," Sam said out of the blue. He smiled self-deprecatingly. "Suppose I can't really live without relying on you, huh?"

"Well, if it makes you feel better, ditto." Dean glanced at Sam and watched his little brother's mouth curl into a smile.

"Cool."

Yeah. Dean was cool with that.

* * *

**A/N:** Never was happy with the fact that this episode was very Dean-centric. What would Sam have wished, y'know? So in this version, I gave Sam Dean's wish!verse while giving Dean the version of canon-life. Dean would totally just wish for Sam to have his sight back, right? (he would technically wish for his parents back as well, but I had to write this some way).

Anyway, I hope you guys like this-I am rather proud of this one. Think of it as my Christmas present to all of you :)


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